I hear her step
Through the darkened hallways
Where only stains of faces
Still remain.
All these portraits
Are now just mirrors
Into her cobwebbed dreams
Of névé.

She places fingers
Upon the faded vases
That once held up roses
Now decayed
And she pours out
The sullen ashes
Let them be free from
Their clay shame.

All the world, for a savior.
All the world, to live again.
Winter’s come down, from the mountain.
All the world, to hold the sand.

Her feet are bare
Yet she steps so violently
Feeling the sharp stones
Beneath her feet.
They were left here
From broken shadows
Carved from porcelain ice
Of névé.
On the boards
Of her oaken bedroom
There lays a blanket
Tattered and torn.
She picks it up
And tears the edge slightly
Not to forget
Another day alone.

All the world, for a savior.
All the world, to live again.
Winter’s come down, from the mountain.
All the world, to hold the sand.

All the world, to be humble.
All the world, to be at peace.
Summer’s gone, but no one remembers.
All the world, to be free.

She closed her door.
She will not hear you.
She won’t be broken
From her dream.
She mourns the mountain
And it’s soft snowfall
That carries her loves
To névé.